A Darkness Absolute

by Kelley Armstrong

  "What the fuck am I going to do with this?" Dalton says when Jacob hands back the shirt.

  "Bring it next time."

  "You realize that means I need to cart it back to town and store it."

  "Then bring me less next time."

  "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" Dalton grumbles under his breath. There's no real anger in it, but there is frustration. He wants to do more for his brother, and he's not allowed to.

  Dalton reaches into his backpack and passes over a coffee thermos and a box of cookies. "This is from Casey, so don't hand it back or you'll insult her."

  "It's from both--" I begin.

  Dalton cuts me off with a glower. "You want me to say it's from us so it doesn't look like you're sucking up. Too bad. It's from you; I'm not pretending it isn't."

  I sigh. "I don't know why I bother."

  "Neither do I." He hands the thermos and box to Jacob. "Take. Sit. Drink. Eat. Give me back the containers before we go."

  "He doesn't have to--" I begin.

  "He doesn't want to store and cart them back. At least I think about stuff like that. Don't want to inconvenience anyone."

  He gives his brother a hard look. Jacob ignores it, thanks me, and finds a log for us to sit on.

  We talk suspects. I expect Jacob to balk at us naming his friend as our lead suspect, but it seems "friend" is an exaggeration. Jacob knows Roger. He's hunted with him, traded with him, even hung out with him, yet that only means he's someone Jacob trusted.

  "Shit," he says when Dalton tells him what Cypher and Brent told us about Roger. He's crouched in the snow, petting Storm. "He's asked me about Rockton, too. I should have mentioned that, I guess, but it was way back, and I never thought much of it."

  "What exactly did he ask?" I say.

  "Just the usual gossip-fishing expedition." He pushes loose hair behind his ear. "He acted like he knew about the town. Which he would, if his family came from there, but he never said that, so I figured it was just what people do sometimes. They act like they know all about a thing so you'll think you're not giving away any secrets. Like Cypher a few months back--he tried talking me up about a fishing spot of mine, said he'd been there before but forgot where it was, maybe I could take him next time I went, refresh his memory." Jacob snorts. "Like I'd fall for that."

  "Nothing specific with Roger, then?"

  "No. I blocked, and he dropped the subject, never returned to it."

  "Next topic of conversation," Dalton says. "Hostiles."

  Jacob tenses, and I go to cut in, but Dalton continues, "You told Casey hostiles aren't capable of these abductions. That's bullshit, and you know it."

  Jacob nods. "I do, and I was going to mention that before you left. Explain. Can I talk to Casey? Alone?"

  Dalton's face screws up. "What?"

  Jacob speaks slower. "I would like to speak to Casey alone. I want to explain and apologize."

  "And I can't be here for that?"

  There's confusion in Dalton's voice, but a touch of hurt, too. I look at him and mouth, Please.

  "If you're worried I'll hurt her again, I'm fine," Jacob says.

  "I'm not--"

  "She has her gun, but I understand if you're concerned--"

  "No, course not." Dalton rises from the log. "I just don't see why--"

  My look stops him.

  "Fine," he says. "At least you're talking to her. Should be glad about that."

  "Stop grumbling," I say. "Go study tree growth or something."

  He rolls his eyes and stalks off. When he looks over his shoulder, I call, "Keep going," and I get another eye roll, but he continues until he's out of sight.

  I shake my head and turn back to Jacob. "He's not worried about you hurting me. He just doesn't like being excluded."

  "I know. I just said that to make him stop arguing." He looks in the direction Dalton went, being sure he's gone. Then he says, "Yes, I lied about the hostiles. I just ... I panicked. I know how Eric feels about you, and he's not going to want you anywhere near them. I don't want you anywhere near them either. After you left, I realized how stupid that was. What if it is a hostile, and he takes someone else because you don't expect it? Or comes back for Nicole?" He pauses. "How is she?"

  "Resting mostly. The other day took a lot from her. She's still asking when she can come back, though. Take the bear cub for a walk."

  He chuckles at that. "I'm still not sure they didn't sell Eric some kind of bear-dog cross. But it seems tame enough." He sobers. "You asked if a hostile could do this. Like Eric says, the answer is yes. I can't give you much on them, though."

  "You stay away from them, like everyone out here."

  He shoves his hands into his pockets. "Even more than most. If I think I hear one coming, I take off. I know that makes me sound like a coward..." Another glance in the direction Dalton went.

  "Eric would think it made you smart."

  His expression says he's not listening. Or he hears, but it doesn't make him feel better. He turns back to me. "You need to know if hostiles could do this. If they could take a woman captive and..." He inhales. "I know what this guy would have done to Nicole. I know ... I know it happens. Even out here. Maybe especially out here. Not that I know what happens down south or ... What I'm saying is that it does happen. And I ... know that. There was this guy, when I was a kid, maybe fifteen, sixteen. A settler from the first community. I had skins he wanted. I'm good at curing. But what he wanted to trade..." He takes his hands from his pockets. Kicks snow off his boot. "He wanted to trade me for a woman. A hostile. He said he could catch one, and I could--But I didn't. As soon as I realized what he was saying, I told him to get the hell away from me. I wouldn't have anything to do with him after that."

  "This guy--"

  "He's gone or I'd have put him at the top of my list. His father went back down south, and he followed a couple of years ago. The point is that I got the impression he did that, and he didn't think it was a bad thing, that those settlers didn't consider hostiles human. So it happens out here. The question is whether hostiles would do it."

  Val's story answers this, but before I can comment, he continues with "They would. I know they would. That's why I panicked when you wanted to consider them as suspects. That'd mean talking to them. You shouldn't. At all. They could do it. I know that. From experience. Which is why I stay away. Far away."

  He's holding himself still, tense, waiting for me to make him explain. I just say, "Okay."

  He looks over.

  "I get it," I say. "That's why you asked Eric to leave. You don't want him to know."

  "I--I was a kid. It was even before that guy ... offered ... But the question is whether hostiles could take someone captive and do that. They can. They do."

  He's got his hands shoved into his pockets so far his parka bunches. When he sees I've noticed, he relaxes and says, "I'm fine. It was a long time ago."

  "I understand why you don't want to tell Eric, but I'm going to suggest you need to tell someone."

  A humorless quirk of his lips. "Just did, didn't I?"

  "It's a start."

  "And an ending. Sorry. I don't--I just don't have anything more to say about it."

  "Okay."

  He looks over, and I check for signs that he's hoping I'll push. There are none. When I don't prod, he relaxes, and I say instead, "The guy--or guys--who did that, are they--"

  "He's not around."

  "And you're sure of that?"

  "Very sure."

  Jacob means he killed him. I can tell. I just can.

  "That's all I have," Jacob says. "I can tell you that it's possible, but I can't tell you anything more about them. You do need to stay away from the hostiles, though. I was serious about that. Just stay away. Please."

  FORTY-TWO

  As I expect, Dalton and I barely get out of Jacob's earshot before Dalton says, "What was up with that?"

  "He wanted to apologize."

  "And...?"

  When I don'
t answer, he shoulders up beside me, pushing aside vegetation to walk in tandem.

  I glance over at him. "You are an awesome brother. You know that, right?"

  A look passes over his face. Guilt. Worry. Fear.

  Before he can speak, I say, "You don't know that. I get it. You worry about what you might have done wrong with Jacob. What happened this fall only makes that worse. He has residual anger over what felt like abandonment. But that wasn't your fault--you were taken from him. Kept from him. He understands that when he's not pumped full of drugs. You didn't have a choice, and once you did, you reconnected, and you've done everything you can for him. Everything he'll allow."

  A few more steps, and I say, "You do remember that I have a sister. An older one."

  He says, "Yeah," but there's a hesitation first.

  "You forgot that. Understandable, because I don't talk about her. I have no relationship with April beyond blood. I've been gone four months, and when I told her I was leaving--and might not be in contact for years--she acted like I'd interrupted her work day to tell her what I had for breakfast. You are an awesome big brother. The problem is that you can't be everything else for Jacob."

  "I know that."

  "Maybe, but you still want to be. That's not your job. There are things that he needs other people for. Things he can't share with you, and if he chooses not to, then you need to accept that." I look at him again. "Do you trust me?"

  He nods. "Course."

  "Then do you trust that if Jacob confided anything that would endanger him, I'd tell you?"

  Another nod.

  "Jacob's fine, Eric. And like you said, I'm just glad he's actually talking to me."

  *

  Back in town, we both have errands to run, so Dalton drops off Storm with Petra. When I go to pick her up, I visit for a while, enjoying a coffee while Storm worries a knotted rope toy Petra must have made for her. Eventually Storm pushes it under the couch, unleashing a torrent of puppy grief. I yank out the slobber-covered thing and take a closer look. It's actually fabric, intricately braided and dyed.

  "You didn't make this for her, did you?" I say, as I hold it up.

  "No. It was a gift from a suitor. Storm decided it looked more like a chew toy."

  "Damn, I'm sorry."

  "Yep, you owe me one butt-ugly, useless hunk of braided fabric, which I may have accidentally left on the sofa for a teething puppy."

  I dangle it for Storm, and she jumps heroically. "What was it supposed to be?"

  "I have no idea. Apparently, since I'm an artist, he wanted to do something artistic for me. I held on to it for three months, which I believe is the appropriate length of time to keep something before you can regift it."

  "I've never seen it."

  "Just because I kept it doesn't mean I feel obligated to display it. That might suggest the suitor still has a shot. Which would lead to more knotted hunks of fabric. And possibly pity sex. I don't do pity sex."

  "You can't in Rockton. It'd be a full-time endeavor."

  I toss the toy for Storm, and she tumbles after it as I sit back on the sofa.

  Petra sips her coffee. "So segueing to guys who have never needed pity sex, how do you like shacking up with the sheriff?"

  "I'm not sure we've been home long enough to know."

  "Best way to do it. Means you don't have to worry about his bad habits driving you crazy. With my ex, I think marriage and cohabitation took us from I can't bear another minute without you to I can't bear another minute with you in about thirty days."

  "You were married?"

  "It really didn't last much more than those thirty days. Well, thirty days of honeymoon bliss followed by two years of postponing the inevitable."

  "That sucks."

  She runs her finger along the top of her mug. "Actually, it was just the marriage part that sucked. I loved him. Still do. We just worked better as friends. It happens sometimes. You meet a guy, and there's that click, and you mistake it for another kind. It should have been friendship, but you both thought you should try for more and..." She trails off and then inhales sharply. "You and Eric are a whole other situation. I'm glad to see you make the leap to single-residence dwelling. I thought it'd take him longer to work up the nerve to suggest it."

  "Actually, it was for the dog. So she can settle in one place."

  Petra grins. "So he didn't work up the nerve. He found an excuse."

  "Eric doesn't need to work up the nerve for anything. I'm not exactly a high-maintenance girlfriend."

  "Maybe, but he's still careful not to slam his foot on the gas and send you running for cover. I won't say he got the puppy as an excuse to move in together, but I'm sure it was an added bonus. And the dog itself says where he's headed."

  When I look at her, she gestures at Storm and says, "Starter baby?"

  "What?"

  "Right, you never did the long-term dating thing. Pet ownership is the first stop on the kid express. There's even a scale of pets. If it's a fish, it's a very tentative commitment. Dogs, though, are all the way. Toilet training, teething, playtime, lessons, day care. Eric is on the baby train, full speed ahead."

  I stare at her.

  "Oh, I'm kidding," she says. "Well, exaggerating anyway. It just means he's serious. Really, really serious. Which is a good thing, right? Unless I really misinterpreted, you're not looking for a winter fling."

  "No, of course not. I just..." I look at her. "Is he telling me he expects kids?"

  "No, no. Damn, I'm sorry. I was being flip, and I've totally freaked you out. I have no idea whether Eric wants children or not. A puppy just means is that he's committed enough that you guys need to have that conversation--soon. The two biggest things that break up a relationship? Differing financial styles and differing views on kids. Up here, finances are not an issue. Differing views on kids isn't a deal breaker, but it's something you need to discuss before things get more serious or you end up with him saying Let's start a family, and you saying, What family? Been there, done that. It wasn't good."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Like I said, there was more wrong to my marriage than differing views on children. We just made the mistake of not sorting that out, and assuming we knew what the other wanted, and then staying together because of the kid."

  "You--you have--"

  "Had," she says. "Past tense. Yeah, really didn't mean to go there. Sorry. Anyway, back to you and Eric. Just know that the puppy means he's serious, and if he's serious, then it's time to open those lines of communication on everything, including children."

  *

  It's night. Storm is upstairs, sound asleep after an hour-long snow-play session to guarantee puppy exhaustion and an hour of peace and quiet. Well, relative peace and quiet. Fortunately, we've done a good enough job with the playtime plan that any noise coming from downstairs hasn't woken her. Now we're stretched out on the bearskin rug as the fire casts dancing shadows around the dark room.

  I prop up on my elbows. "Are you as tired as you look?"

  He opens one eye. "Depends on the purpose of the question. Am I too tired to drag my ass upstairs to bed? Yep. Am I too tired to prolong the evening's entertainment? Nope. Just give me a few minutes. And possibly a beer."

  I head into the kitchen. When I return with two beers, he says, "Can't believe that actually worked."

  "If it's ultimately to my advantage, I'm happy to oblige."

  I settle in cross-legged beside him. "While you're recuperating, do you have enough energy to talk?"

  "Always."

  "It's about..." I look toward the steps. "The puppy. And moving in together."

  The smile falls from his face. "Okay..."

  "Nothing bad. I just wanted to discuss--"

  Someone bangs on the front door. A double-fisted pounding. "Eric? Casey? It's Kenny."

  "Hold on," Dalton calls.

  The door flies open. Kenny rushes in ... with a good sightline to where we're scrambling for clothing. Dalton blocks me and snarls, "I said hol
d on."

  Kenny spins around. "Sorry, sorry. It's Val. She woke up to someone in her bedroom."

  "What?" I say as I yank on my jeans.

  Kenny starts to turn, saying, "She--" and then remembers why he's facing the door, his memory goosed by a fresh snarl from Dalton.

  "It's fine," I say as I yank on my shirt. "I'm decent enough. Just tell me what's going on."

  He half turns, facing the wall instead. "Val woke up and started screaming. Paul was passing on patrol. He raced in. Val was hysterical." He glances at me. "I'm not supposed to use that word, right?"

  "It works here. Just keep going." I'm at the front door now, yanking on my boots, and Dalton's handing me my parka.

  "Val said there was a man in her room. She said it was"--he looks at Dalton--"Eric."

  "What?" Dalton says.

  "Obviously it wasn't you. It happened five minutes ago, and..." He gestures toward the blankets in front of the fire. "So I don't know what's going on, but she's demanding to see Casey. And not..."

  "Not Eric," I say.

  "She's made a mistake. Paul thought he saw the guy in the forest, though. He'd have gone after him, but with the way Val was screaming, he thought she was hurt."

  "I'll talk to her."

  "Get Will," Dalton says to Kenny. "Tell him to meet us at Val's place. As soon as he's on his way, round up the militia. I want all hands on deck. But no one makes a move without my say-so. Tell them to get to Val's house for further instructions."

  FORTY-THREE

  Dalton and I head out. As we walk, he says, "This wasn't me."

  "Uh, yeah, considering we were having sex for the last hour, I have no doubt of where you were, Eric."

  "If she tries to say it happened earlier, I can account for my whereabouts all evening. The last person I spoke to was Isabel. Then I passed Brian heading home, and we talked. He can confirm I was walking straight to my place. Then we took Storm out to play."

  "Eric? It's okay."

  "I just ... I don't know what is going on, Casey. Yeah, I'm freaking out. I feel like she's trying to frame me or plant doubt about me, with you or--"

  "Eric? Deep breaths."

  He makes a face, but he doesn't argue that he's not panicking. I squeeze his arm.

  We're almost to Val's when Dalton spots a figure trudging along the road.

  "You!" he calls. "I need your--" He exhales a fuck as the figure turns, and we see Jen's face beneath a parka hood. "Never mind."